...it's an opportunity for a solution.
This is supposed to be her expertise - she's supposed be the best there is at it. She'd better fucking prove it.
I want the twins back, if only for the peace and quiet.
=NYC= Black King's Office - Second Floor - Hellfire Clubhouse
It is evening, Thursday, and Shaw paces his office, his coat and tie discarded. There's a disgruntled expression on his face - impatient, perhaps, and upset - as he waits for his pawn.
The pawn in question is not long to keep Sebastian waiting. After the turn of a pace, the door closing with Deeds already inside the office. "You rang?" she asks, tone meandering toward the line between obedience and annoyance.
"Buzzed, at least," Shaw says. "You remember al-Razi?" he asks - a bit bluntly. The lingering white annoyance of Emma Frost is like a psychic shadow over the room. "He was here when I took you in."
The twinge of fresh discord makes Victoria's nose wrinkle faintly, but she crosses into the room anyway. "Vaguely, yes," she replies evasively to the blunt question.
"He has a twin brother," the Black King says. "One works for me, one works for Emma Frost. Both of them, however, are in trouble." It's clipped tones and delivery, rattled off like machine gun fire - proof positive, perhaps, of a little agitation on the part of Sebastian Shaw.
"I see." To the machined steel of Shaw's delivery, Deeds' is as water. "What sort of trouble?" she says, folding her arms across her midsection in languid interest.
Shaw nods towards the drinks cart in silent instruction. "INS trouble," he says. "They had fake papers, and someone - someone in the Lowe administration - ratted them out. Now..." He shakes his head. "We could use the Hound and break them out, but... that's not going to do us much good, is it?"
A slight grimace from the unwilling bartender, but she knows by now Shaw's drink of choice. Certain occupational hazards. There is only the clink of crystal, glass, and ice as Victoria silently listens, then thinks. "If they're in custody, flags are already raised. It's easier to correct a 'paperwork error' when someone isn't looking over your shoulder." The tumbler, gently filled, is held in Shaw's direction. "But you knew that. You already have a plan, don't you?"
"You find a clerk, you convince her that she just misfiled the paperwork," Shaw says. "It can't be helped, now - they'll have to register." There's that word - that ugly word. "We feed them the details - I can handle that - and then between them, the lawyers, and a friendly judge..." He shrugs. "Of course, we do need to find a friendly judge."
Victoria's lips purse unhappily. "Quite a mess." She accepts certain truths of the matter. If Shaw was keen to contact her, he would either tell the truth or lie very convincingly. Whichever it was, it didn't truly matter.
"I hear messes are your specialty, Miss Deeds." Shaw smiles. "I can find a judge and lean on the system, but I need you to come up with my character witness."
A particularly annoying bit of fuzz is brushed disdainfully from the sleeve of Victoria's jacket. "And this incident takes precedence over the other... 'mess' that needs cleaning?"
"This needs to have been solved yesterday," Shaw says gravely. "And if it's not solved, it's going to become a bigger and bigger and bigger problem. Some people..." His lips twist. "Some people have a little too much skin in this game."
"Very well," Victoria acquiesces, already running scenarios in her head while staring at the carpet. "I'll set to it immediately."
"Other than that," Shaw says, sipping at his drink. "Anything else to report? How are you settling?"
The grimace returns, but thankfully with Victoria turning towards the bar to fetch herself a drink. Small talk. She's going to need one. "New York is a pleasant enough place to live. The store's location is a good one, thank you." Nimble fingers mix a drink for herself, good and strong.
"...New York is pleasant enough." Shaw's lips purse. "You need some vim, Deeds."
"Vim, sir?" she asks, perking her voice as well as her eyebrow. "You've just asked me to falsify records for the very paranoid American government. I think I can worry about my blood sugar later."
"Well," Shaw points out. "We do have good lawyers - and you're a British citizen, not a Bahraini. We like the UK a lot more than the Arabs." He smiles. "Most importantly, though, they don't know you're..." Pursed lips. "One of them."
"Of course," Deeds responds slowly. "And your boys are." She runs a fingertip around the rim of her glass. "Bribing the clerk will be easiest."
"Telepaths," Shaw supplies. "You'll need that for the form."
"Of course," Deeds repeats. "I'm sure it can be taken care of quickly." Cleanly is suspiciously absent from the appraisal.
Shaw eyes Deeds for a long time, and then raises his bourbon to his lips. It's a drink - a forced swallow - and, "Are we going to have a problem?" He pauses. "You're the expert, here."
"Hardly an expert, but naturally cautious," says the woman. "If, as you suspect, someone else set the immigration offices on your Misters al-Razi purposely, then this will only cure the symptom. Not the problem. If they wanted to make you stumble, more complications will mysteriously appear."
"I'm working on that part of it," Shaw says gravely. "You see, we're going to impeach the motherfucker."
The smile that finds its way onto Victoria's face looks for all the world as if she had been expecting something like this. Perhaps not on such a grand scale, but a counter-offensive of some kind. She is impressed. "Naturally."
"Naturally," the Black King responds, "indeed."
Victoria leaves her half-finished drink on the bar, letting her fingertips slide off its edge gently. "Well then, we all have our work cut out for us. Mr. Shaw," she says in parting.
Shaw's drink becomes a silent salute before he downs it. "Don't fuck it up, Deeds. This one's for the money."
I want the twins back, if only for the peace and quiet.
=NYC= Black King's Office - Second Floor - Hellfire Clubhouse
It is evening, Thursday, and Shaw paces his office, his coat and tie discarded. There's a disgruntled expression on his face - impatient, perhaps, and upset - as he waits for his pawn.
The pawn in question is not long to keep Sebastian waiting. After the turn of a pace, the door closing with Deeds already inside the office. "You rang?" she asks, tone meandering toward the line between obedience and annoyance.
"Buzzed, at least," Shaw says. "You remember al-Razi?" he asks - a bit bluntly. The lingering white annoyance of Emma Frost is like a psychic shadow over the room. "He was here when I took you in."
The twinge of fresh discord makes Victoria's nose wrinkle faintly, but she crosses into the room anyway. "Vaguely, yes," she replies evasively to the blunt question.
"He has a twin brother," the Black King says. "One works for me, one works for Emma Frost. Both of them, however, are in trouble." It's clipped tones and delivery, rattled off like machine gun fire - proof positive, perhaps, of a little agitation on the part of Sebastian Shaw.
"I see." To the machined steel of Shaw's delivery, Deeds' is as water. "What sort of trouble?" she says, folding her arms across her midsection in languid interest.
Shaw nods towards the drinks cart in silent instruction. "INS trouble," he says. "They had fake papers, and someone - someone in the Lowe administration - ratted them out. Now..." He shakes his head. "We could use the Hound and break them out, but... that's not going to do us much good, is it?"
A slight grimace from the unwilling bartender, but she knows by now Shaw's drink of choice. Certain occupational hazards. There is only the clink of crystal, glass, and ice as Victoria silently listens, then thinks. "If they're in custody, flags are already raised. It's easier to correct a 'paperwork error' when someone isn't looking over your shoulder." The tumbler, gently filled, is held in Shaw's direction. "But you knew that. You already have a plan, don't you?"
"You find a clerk, you convince her that she just misfiled the paperwork," Shaw says. "It can't be helped, now - they'll have to register." There's that word - that ugly word. "We feed them the details - I can handle that - and then between them, the lawyers, and a friendly judge..." He shrugs. "Of course, we do need to find a friendly judge."
Victoria's lips purse unhappily. "Quite a mess." She accepts certain truths of the matter. If Shaw was keen to contact her, he would either tell the truth or lie very convincingly. Whichever it was, it didn't truly matter.
"I hear messes are your specialty, Miss Deeds." Shaw smiles. "I can find a judge and lean on the system, but I need you to come up with my character witness."
A particularly annoying bit of fuzz is brushed disdainfully from the sleeve of Victoria's jacket. "And this incident takes precedence over the other... 'mess' that needs cleaning?"
"This needs to have been solved yesterday," Shaw says gravely. "And if it's not solved, it's going to become a bigger and bigger and bigger problem. Some people..." His lips twist. "Some people have a little too much skin in this game."
"Very well," Victoria acquiesces, already running scenarios in her head while staring at the carpet. "I'll set to it immediately."
"Other than that," Shaw says, sipping at his drink. "Anything else to report? How are you settling?"
The grimace returns, but thankfully with Victoria turning towards the bar to fetch herself a drink. Small talk. She's going to need one. "New York is a pleasant enough place to live. The store's location is a good one, thank you." Nimble fingers mix a drink for herself, good and strong.
"...New York is pleasant enough." Shaw's lips purse. "You need some vim, Deeds."
"Vim, sir?" she asks, perking her voice as well as her eyebrow. "You've just asked me to falsify records for the very paranoid American government. I think I can worry about my blood sugar later."
"Well," Shaw points out. "We do have good lawyers - and you're a British citizen, not a Bahraini. We like the UK a lot more than the Arabs." He smiles. "Most importantly, though, they don't know you're..." Pursed lips. "One of them."
"Of course," Deeds responds slowly. "And your boys are." She runs a fingertip around the rim of her glass. "Bribing the clerk will be easiest."
"Telepaths," Shaw supplies. "You'll need that for the form."
"Of course," Deeds repeats. "I'm sure it can be taken care of quickly." Cleanly is suspiciously absent from the appraisal.
Shaw eyes Deeds for a long time, and then raises his bourbon to his lips. It's a drink - a forced swallow - and, "Are we going to have a problem?" He pauses. "You're the expert, here."
"Hardly an expert, but naturally cautious," says the woman. "If, as you suspect, someone else set the immigration offices on your Misters al-Razi purposely, then this will only cure the symptom. Not the problem. If they wanted to make you stumble, more complications will mysteriously appear."
"I'm working on that part of it," Shaw says gravely. "You see, we're going to impeach the motherfucker."
The smile that finds its way onto Victoria's face looks for all the world as if she had been expecting something like this. Perhaps not on such a grand scale, but a counter-offensive of some kind. She is impressed. "Naturally."
"Naturally," the Black King responds, "indeed."
Victoria leaves her half-finished drink on the bar, letting her fingertips slide off its edge gently. "Well then, we all have our work cut out for us. Mr. Shaw," she says in parting.
Shaw's drink becomes a silent salute before he downs it. "Don't fuck it up, Deeds. This one's for the money."